


After Hours

by camierrant



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - College/University, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Drinking Games, Drunken Flirting, F/F, Genderbending, Genderswap, Grinding, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Vaginal Fingering, aaaaaaaa, drunken hookups, it's gay enjoy, these tags aren't even that bad but I'm still having heart palpatations, they're girls, this is exactly what it looks like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camierrant/pseuds/camierrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of finals studying, Izaya is kicked out of her apartment by her roommate for the night. Trying to find a way to kill time and suppress her bitterness, she ends up at a seedy bar in the company of an angry bartender. Just because she's sour doesn't mean she can't make a game of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhhHHHHHHHH real talk guys this is actually the first fic I've ever written?? I've gone through and edited, but I'm still anticipating OOC moments, and for that I apologize. tbh this fic just came from me looking for lesfics of them and finding like zero so I wrote one for myself. hope you enjoy!

Just because Orihara Izaya had a knack for lying didn’t mean she always enjoyed it.

Cases in which she was accused of lying to herself were particularly bad, because then she had to turn around and lie again to say that she wasn’t lying to herself. This flimsy defense wasn’t often needed, but the grating annoyance it brought about left her stomach sour for hours following.

“I’m fine,” she said (she lied) to her roommate, whose typically blasé default mode had, too, worn thin in the wake of finals week. They had both been working like fiends non-stop, and because their fields were dissimilar (Kishitani Shinra, a med student versus Orihara Izaya, a communications major) neither had been able to aid the other’s studies.

Shinra scowled at her, and Izaya was surprised to catch some shadow around his cheeks. She hadn’t thought him capable of growing a beard. It didn’t suit him. “Whatever you say, Orihara-chan. If this is your definition of ‘fine,’ more power to you. But you’ve said some very mean things to me in the past few days, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Izaya scrunched her brow. “Is this your attempt at an intervention, Kishitani? Or do you actually have a point you’ll arrive at sometime soon? My time is precious, I don’t have time to waste it on small talk.” She took a sip of coffee from the 32 ounce styrofoam go-cup she’d grabbed at the convenience store on her way home. It had long since grown cold, but being awake for going on 40 hours made her forego the need for such a luxury as adequate coffee. It caffeinated, it fulfilled its purpose.

“Celty is coming over.”

Izaya grunted.

“It’s late, you know.”

Izaya made no effort to respond.

Shinra sighed. “I want you to leave.”

This made Izaya freeze in surprise. “You’re kicking me out so you can bang your girlfriend? What a stand-up friend you are.”

“Not for long,” Shinra said. “Just for an hour or so. You should loosen up, take a break from work. Come home, sleep, and start again in the morning.”

“That’s cute, but no.”

“ _Izaya_.”

She remained silent.

“Aren’t you exhausted?”

To avoid lying to Shinra or herself, Izaya withheld a response.

  
Thus she ended up on a snowy street alone at nearly one in the morning. The only advantage winter brought Izaya was an excuse to wear her favorite fur jacket twenty-four-seven. She washed it regularly, of course, but it helped for her to have a uniform. One less thing to worry about in the morning.

Izaya shivered. In another situation, another year, she would have looked up at how the snowflakes glowed in the lamplight as they greeted the streets of Ikebukuro, only to have their lives end at the contact. Watching the snowfall alone was pathetic at best, downright depressing at worst. It always struck her as a companionable activity, whether she were with her sisters or a stranger she decided to investigate. The recent weeks had stunted Izaya’s ability to enjoy gathering information about the goings-on of Ikebukuro and it made her antsy. An entire city of her greatest loves and they were all unavailable to her because of fucking school.

It occurred to Izaya, belatedly, that the city had no nightlife to speak of, and that’s because it was only Tuesday. Any opportunity to indulge herself was all but snuffed out. She cursed Shinra under her breath, but decided to stay out anyway. Not to clear her head or relax, as if freezing to death would contribute positively to either attempt, but to avoid being holed up in that apartment for any longer. Shinra didn’t want her around? Fine. His loss.

In her periphery, Izaya caught the glow of a bar front she had never noticed before. It flaunted itself as THE JUNGLE, each letter glowing a different staple color of the rainbow. This bar took the cake for most flamboyant shithole Izaya had ever seen. She must really have gotten off the beaten track if it was an establishment she’d never seen in her life of living in Ikebukuro. Was it obnoxious? Sure. But it tempted her, and she gave in to it.

The inside boasted no special crowd, but Izaya was surprised to find people there at all. Virtually no women. Some men, dancing, mainly. Izaya quickly understood how in her years of living with a family she had not found this place. It wasn’t dirty, really, but what was implied would still make her parents shudder. And even now at twenty-two, the adrenaline of finding a new place so small and seedy filled her with equal parts anxiety and anticipation.

The gayness of the place didn’t do much for her. She’d never felt “at home” in queer spaces, but she never felt rejected. Privately, she sometimes wished she would be turned out of some place. She liked the challenge.

Despite the existence of people, the bar was deserted. Behind stood two people, a man and a woman. The man was dark, his hair in lumpy dreads and his eyes unfocused behind glasses.

The woman towered. Her hair was bleached, her shoulders were broad. Unlike her coworker, she wore a traditional bartending uniform, which managed somehow to look pristine in the dull neon. Izaya searched for her eyes, but behind tinted glasses and the shaggy hair, they eluded her.

The woman’s posture lended itself to disapproval, but not disinterest. She presided over the bar with attention to detail though no customers were before her at the moment, and compared to her coworker, she seemed considerably more awake.

Izaya studied her from the entrance, intrigued by how the linen pulled taut against her shoulders, back, upper arms. The forearms exposed past the rolled-up sleeves were firm, and her _hands_. Even from afar, Izaya could see each sinewy line of vein and muscle, the curvature of her fingers obstructed by cuts and bruises. None of them looked self-inflicted, she bore it all well. Izaya anticipated those fingers. She needed to get a closer look at them.

Izaya licked her lips and realized that she had been staring for much too long. No way she could pull a “I was just taking in my surroundings” breed of bullshit when she had been mooning over one of the bartenders. And she couldn’t say she was looking at the man either. There were some lies even she couldn’t pull off.

 _What the hell?_ she thought. Might as well have a little fun. She cracked her neck, offered a leering patron a side-eye, and made her way towards the bar. Shinra needed the apartment for an hour or two, Izaya could try and entertain herself here for thirty minutes.

The male bartender didn’t acknowledge her, rather he shot his coworker a look Izaya did not miss, then went into a back room. “Have fun, Shizuo.”

“What, Tom? Hey!” she called after him, but he was gone. The woman looked confused for a second, like a dog who goes on a car ride and is let out somewhere it has never been. She turned then to Izaya and examined her head to toe. “You’ve been standing a while now, huh?” she said to Izaya now. “I was wondering if you were gonna come in at all.”

“No, I’d never miss an opportunity to people watch.”

“Bad night for that.”

“Yes, well you’re lucky I have low standards.”

The alleged Shizuo glared at her. “Hey, fuck you. You came here on your own. I just work here.”

Izaya finally sat herself down at the bar and leaned forward. “Quite the spot, too. No one works at a dive like this just because they want to, ne? You must be at the end of your rope.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” she asked, emitting a low growl from the back of her throat. “Waltzing in here at one in the fucking morning just to complain? You’ve got some nerve.”

“Oh, you’re defensive,” Izaya observed, amused. “Tell me, did your previous employers put ‘great customer service’ on their reference?”

“You’re an asshole. Are you gonna drink or just listen to yourself talk?”

Izaya smirked. “I’ll take a shot of espresso.”

“Ha ha.”

“You think I’m kidding,” Izaya said, but now that she’d thought about espresso she wanted to stab herself. The bags under her eyes were infringing upon her opportunity to finally examine Shizuo’s face more closely. Why the woman felt the need to wear sunglasses at night was a mystery, and why they were blue even more so. But within range, Izaya saw that the eyes had a certain glimmer to them. They looked hungry, but for what she wasn’t sure yet.

“You don’t look like you need espresso,” Shizuo said. “You look like you need twelve hours sleep.”

Finally Izaya found something she could goad the other woman with. “I’m so tired already, I might just stay the night here.”

Shizuo cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you fall asleep I’ll personally kick you out.”

“Promise?”

A little red formed around Shizuo’s cheeks. “Seriously, what are you drinking?”

“You do realize that alcohol will only make me drowsier,” Izaya said. “You are a bartender, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you understand the effects of the product you’re serving people?”

“Drink or get out.”

 _That’s more like it._ She reclined backwards and took off her jacket. The shirt she was wearing offered just enough collarbone to draw attention to slope of her neck down into her chest. Admittedly it was the same shirt she’d worn the day before, but Shizuo didn’t know that. “Manhattan,” Izaya said. “With Canadian whiskey.”

Shizuo eyed her in a manner that seemed to be an attempt at subtlety, but it failed. Two eyes examined Izaya’s pearly skin, Izaya examined the eyes. Then Shizuo shook herself and snapped, “Does it look like we have fucking Canadian whiskey?”

“What a shame. It’s been fun, _Shizuo_ , was it? But I’ll be taking my business somewhere else.” Izaya put her jacket over her shoulders like a cape in a gesture she knew was overdone. “You’ll be hearing from me on Yelp.”

“Wait!” Shizuo snapped. “I’ll make you a fucking Manhattan, jeez. How do you know my name?”

“Please. Not all of us are so selectively observant,” Izaya crooned, leaning forward, though Shizuo didn't take the bait. “And your now-absent coworker said your name earlier, Shizu-chan.”

“Do _not_ call me that.”

Izaya licked her lips. Shizuo now had her full attention and she had Shizuo in her pocket for the night. Briefly glancing over her shoulder she saw that almost the entire dive had emptied itself out. Aside from a few stragglers, they were alone. “And actually, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have a martini. Make it _dirty_ , if you would please.”

Shizuo looked harassed but made the drink anyways and served it with a deliberately graceless plop against the counter. The drink was halfway to Izaya’s lips when Shizuo asked, “What’s your name?”

“Who wants to know?” Izaya asked.

“The only other person in the room, asshole.”

“Mmm, you really know how to make a girl feel special,” Izaya said. She sipped the martini, then was caught off-guard by how much she liked it and finished it in one sip. It was the first martini she’d ever ordered. “Orihara Izaya.”

“How old are you?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you served me alcohol? Quite irresponsible of you, Shizu-chan. You could have just broken the law.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shizuo said. “You’re obviously over twenty-one.”

Izaya picked up the toothpick and ate off one of the green olives. “You know, I think there’s a much more interesting way we could be answering questions. If you keep on with this interrogation I’ll inevitably get bored, and I’ve got another hour to kill.”

Shizuo grimaced at her. “You’re irritating.”

“So I’ve been told. You should think up more creative insults, Shizu-chan. That one is protozoan at this point.”

“Fuck off,” she snapped back.

“That’s no more original.”

“You’re a flea.”

Izaya grinned. “Is that the best you can come up with? Flea? I was right, you are protozoan.”

Red began taking over Shizuo’s face, but no longer out of embarrassment. “Don’t think it matters that you’re a customer, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’d love it if you did,” Izaya said.

“The fuck is wrong with you? If you don’t want to be here, then just leave.”

“But you didn’t want me to leave before, Shizu-chan. I can’t abandon you now.”

Shizuo groaned. “You’re so full of shit.” She loosened her bow tie and unbuttoned her vest, discarding it under the bar. Izaya tried not to indulge herself too obviously in checking out Shizuo, but it was hard to resist looking at the fabric pulled tight along her stomach, following the buttons as they disappeared under her belt.

“Again, your proficiency in insults is staggering. Quit the _Id_ type of mind, wouldn’t you say? Only focused on primal needs. Sleep, nourishment, sex, the like.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I’ve got it!” Izaya declared, veering the conversation away from the six-foot deep hole she’d accidentally dug. Blame it on the gin. “You’re so keen on getting to know me, let’s make a game of it.”

Shizuo scrutinized Izaya’s expression. If she was trying to pick up on an ulterior motive, she could certainly see one existed, protozoan or not. Izaya was not working especially hard to mask her intentions. Wiping her hands on a cloth under the bar, Shizuo said, “I don’t trust you.”

“Two truths and a lie,” Izaya said. “But a drinking game. You get to work with something you’re comfortable with.” _And so do I._

“What, shots?”

Izaya nodded. “Every time you get one wrong, you take a shot.”

“No way.”

“Why not?” Izaya pouted, leaning further forward into the bar. “Scared I’ll get you drunk?”

“I don’t drink while I’m working.”

Izaya spread her arms wide to try and encompass the whole bar in one gesture. “No insult to you, Shizu-chan, but there’s not much work being done. We’re alone.” By now all remaining patrons had left Izaya and Shizuo to share in the dull background music and dim lighting.

Through gritted teeth, Shizuo muttered, “My boss is in the back room.”

“If he weren’t, would you drink with me?”

Shizuo said nothing.

Taking that as a yes, Izaya snatched her martini glass, hopped up to sit cross-legged on the bar, and dropped the glass on the floor near the door to the back.

“Hey!” Shizuo yelled, jumping back away from the glass shards. “You’re paying for that, you shitty louse.”

“Ooh, I like that one,” Izaya sang, but she was muffled by the sound of the door opening.

“Shizuo?” the man from before asked. “Everything alright?”

Izaya turned around on her ass and smiled at the man. “Yeah, I’m so sorry,” she said before Shizuo could interject and putting on a whiny voice. “I knocked it over on accident, my bad completely.”

Shizuo’s ears were bright red, her eyes were all over the place trying to avoid eye contact with both Izaya and her boss. “Sorry, Tom,” she said, her voice subdued.

He eyed them with suspicion, then shrugged. “No worries. I was thinking of turning in here. You think you can close up alright?” He had already donned a winter coat.

“Yeah, of course.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“I’m good, Tom. Thanks.”

“Cool,” he said, zipping up his jacket and tossing Shizuo a ring of keys. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun.” Izaya felt fairly proud of herself as she watched Tom trot out the door when he called back, “Don’t break anything else.”

It was unclear if that was a tease or a legitimate warning, but wasting no time after the door shut, Shizuo asked, “What are we drinking?”

Izaya smirked. “You’re the bartender, you tell me.”

“It was your idea, louse.”

“Is that the nickname that’s sticking? Not something more endearing? Shizu-chan is so mean.”

“Get off the bar,” Shizuo said, retrieving a bottle of whiskey.

They stared at each other for a second. “Case and point,” Izaya chirped, hopping off of the bar and back into her seat. “Should we share an honorary shot before we begin?”

Shizuo scoffed. “No thanks. I don’t trust either of us inebriated, I’m not gonna do anything to accelerate the process.”

“Shizu-chan doesn’t like to drink? You should have told me.”

“Stupid,” she said. “As if it would have made any difference.”

“You could always say no,” Izaya offered, but the constitution of her voice faltered. She caught herself becoming transparent, but it was too late.

They shared a beat of silence, and Izaya was almost ready to pick up her coat and follow Tom out when Shizuo said, “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

A grin overtook Izaya’s mouth again. “Your pride. Your secrets. Your decency. No, Shizu-chan is already indecent.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re a fucking saint.” She poured a shot for each of them and they clinked their glasses together. “Your idea, you go first.”

Izaya considered, humming the tune of a familiar and mildly sexual song to herself as she thought. “I have three sisters, I work for the mafia sometimes, and I’m a communications major.”

“What the fuck?” Shizuo said. “Two of those are mundane and one is obviously a lie.”

“Which one, Shizu-chan?”

“Enough with the -chan shit. You don’t work for the mafia.”

Izaya’s grin grew.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“I only have two sisters.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo growled, and she took the shot like it was nothing. “You work for the mafia? How does that happen?”

Izaya shrugged. “If they need information but they can’t leave tracks, they just get me to do it. As you’ve discovered, I’m a mere college student. It helps pay the bills.”

“I’m guessing you’re twenty-two,” Shizuo said.

Izaya smirked, neither confirming nor denying Shizuo’s hypothesis (she was right, but Izaya didn’t have to tell her that) and swirled the shot in her hand. “Your move, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo grimaced, then took a few seconds to think through her statements. Izaya had to be careful. Considering her mental state, level of exhaustion, and the fact she hadn’t eaten in a few hours, she could potentially become very tipsy very quickly.

Shizuo cleared her throat and said, “Alright. My younger brother is an idol, I’m twenty-five, and I’m a bodyguard.”

Izaya scoffed. “You’re not a bodyguard -- is my first thought,” Izaya said, catching herself in time to possibly save herself from taking a shot. “But then again, how many idols are there in Ikebukuro? You’d be staking claim to being related to Hanejima Yuuhei or someone else equally unlikely.”

“Just give me your answer.”

“Your younger brother isn’t an idol.”

Shizuo pushed the shot towards her. “His real name is Heiwajima Kasuka, in case you ever run across him on the street.”

Flush took over Izaya’s cheeks much quicker than she anticipated, and she bit the embarrassment away by the inside of her cheek. “So you aren’t a bodyguard. I should have gone by my gut instinct. Common error, it seemed like what you would do, Shizu-chan, so I tried to avoid making a protozoan mistake.”

“Fuck off,” Shizuo snapped. “I’m actually twenty-four.”

Izaya started in surprise. “Heiwajima Shizuo the bodyguard?” Her mouth broadened into a grin. “I did notice you were strong, but I’m impressed.” Fascinated (not to mention aroused), really, was the word Izaya tasted, but she swallowed it with her shot. The window into Heiwajima Shizuo was slowly but surely clearing up: a new part of her was exposed to Izaya with every discussion, and she was almost tempted to return the favor substantially. But it was like spraying frothy Windex on a filthy window, clarity was worsened before it was found again.

Shizuo poured another shot for Izaya and looked at her expectantly. “Your move.”

“Suppose it is,” Izaya sighed in a sing-song tone. “Hmm. My roommate is a med student, his girlfriend is motorcyclist, and we have a cat.”

“What’s the cat’s name?” Shizuo said so flatly it didn’t come out as a question.

“Loki.”

“That’s the lie.”

“Right you are,” Izaya said.

Shizuo scrutinized her. “That was a pretty shitty lie, louse. You got me before.”

“And you got me. Come on, another round.” Izaya felt herself easing herself further and further into the bar, so close that she was likely to run her nose into Shizuo’s chest if she kept it up. Had that become her goal, somewhere along the way? Of course, it had been the plan all along (another lie that would sort itself out later).

“Alright, let’s see. I work with a Russian immigrant, I hate beer, and I smoke Marlboros.”

“How many jobs do you have?” Izaya asked, accidentally letting a laugh escape her.

Shizuo shrugged. “Gotta pay the bills.”

The homage to Izaya’s comment didn’t pass her by. “You don’t hate beer.”

“I do.”

“Shizu-chan needs help picking her professions. Seems like a pretty lousy bartender who doesn’t like beer. I thought I was supposed to be the louse here.” Izaya downed the shot, feeling more intensely now the burn in her empty stomach. “Do you not smoke?”

“I smoke Blue American Spirits.”

“Playing dirty.”

“Or you’re getting arrogant.” Shizuo took the shot before her then immediately glowered at it. “Fuck.”

“Which of us is arrogant, Shizu-chan?”

“Cut it with the -chan shit,” Shizuo snapped again. “Your turn.”

Izaya eyed the whiskey bottle. “You know, you seem perfectly capable of playing on your own, if you’re going to take shots out of turn.”

Shizuo glared at her. “It was a reflex.”

“Ah, a bartender with a drinking problem who doesn’t like beer. Ever more interesting, Shizu-chan.”

“The game was your idea,” Shizuo said with bitterness in her voice. “Either play or get out.”

“So pushy,” Izaya sighed. “I’m fluent in Russian, I come to this part of town frequently, I weigh myself daily.”

Shizuo scrunched her brow together. “No one weighs themselves daily.”

“I do.”

Shizuo groaned and took another shot. “Which is the lie?”

“I’ve never been in this part of town,” Izaya said, words drawing together a little more than she liked to admit. She hopped up from the stool to the counter and splayed her legs out sideways. “I’m only here because my roommate kicked me out for a few hours. I’ve just been entertaining myself mindlessly to delay my return.”

“Get down from there.”

Izaya just smirked at Shizuo and continued. “And I’ve succeeded partially. I will say you held my attention for a while, Shizu-chan, but I have more dive bars to crash now. It’s been nice speaking to you, even if your conversation is of sub-par.”

“Hey, hold on,” Shizuo said quickly. She snatched Izaya’s wrist, and Izaya whipped around to look her in the eyes. “That’s not true and you’re being a dick.”

“What’s not true, Shizu-chan? That I was evicted from my own home for the night?” The sourness on her tongue came off too-strong.

Shizuo glared into Izaya’s eyes without faltering. She took off her sunglasses and set them on the counter. “You don’t want to leave.”

Izaya laughed. “Shizu-chan is very desperate.”

“You’re full of shit. And this stupid game was your idea.”

“So what if I am? And so what if it was?” Izaya said, kicking her legs around to hang behind the bar. The layers of separation between the two women were dwindling by the second. Before, Izaya had tried not to think about it, but that be-all end-all was right in front of her. Between that and the alcohol, she felt on fire. “I’m only here because you gave me a reason to stay. Now you’re boring me.”

“You just wish you wanted to leave.”

“Confident, aren’t we?”

Shizuo poured herself another shot and downed it effortlessly. Izaya’s eyes followed the slope of Shizuo’s throat as fire surged through her and _there_. Inches, sliding downward and forward. Tearing off that stupid bow tie and opening that shirt button by button, so slowly that she squirmed with desire. Following that fire. “Fuck you.”

Izaya took a deep breath and let her knees part by a factor of millimeters. “Now that you’ve made your intentions clear, what will you do?”

“Get off the bar,” Shizuo growled, eyes steady and dilated and _hungry_.

Izaya leaned in so close to Shizuo that their noses nearly touched. And Shizuo had to know how close their mouths were, because she gasped the air right out of Izaya’s lungs, but Izaya held herself together, somehow. “Make me.”

In one powerful motion, Shizuo grabbed Izaya’s hips, pulled her behind the bar, and pressed their mouths together. Izaya grabbed two fistfulls of Shizuo’s hair and urged so that they went stumbling back against the counter, rattling glasses. Shizuo’s hands were finally on Izaya, and they did not stay still, exploring just above the slope of Izaya’s ass, up her back following her spine to her shoulder blades.

For all of her anticipation and manipulation to get this to happen, Izaya still found herself dumbfounded. Their mouths melded together so naturally, Izaya felt like they’d done this a hundred times before. Yet she felt harassed and electrocuted by Shizuo’s raw strength. Izaya wanted this woman to eat her alive.

The taste of alcohol on both of their tongues cancelled each other out, and Izaya, running her tongue along the roof of Shizuo’s mouth, tasted something sweet. She hated sweet food but couldn’t bring herself to give a shit.

“Fuck,” Shizuo breathed, breaking away, and she started pulling at the back of Izaya’s shirt.

“So impatient,” Izaya laughed, and _finally_ she undid that stupid bow tie and started to work at the buttons of Shizuo’s blouse. The neon lingered against linen and smooth skin, giving Shizuo a remarkable glow, every curve of muscle highlighted with a purple or pink or red. She looked mythical, but not in a dainty, fairy way. Maybe she was a dragon. An impressive creature Izaya had found indeed.

“Shut up, so are you.” Shizuo’s voice faltered and she sucked in a quick gasp as the skin of her neck became exposed to the open air.

Izaya kissed behind Shizuo’s ear, running her tongue in a little circle to prime the area before biting at it so hard to turn it purple in a matter of seconds. She ran her hands slowly along Shizuo’s shoulders and upper back, pushing hard just to feel her hands bounce back against the taut muscle. She craned further into Shizuo and bit the slope of skin where neck sloped into back, skin soft and untouched.

Shizuo groaned into the pain and pushed Izaya harder against the bar, knocking over a glass in the process. “Goddamnit,” she growled, and then gasped again as Izaya graced her with another bruise.

“Keep that up,” Izaya purred, “and your boss won’t let me come back.” She was too aware now of Shizuo’s hips, and Izaya hiked her legs up around them to relieve the pressure. Shizuo’s hands came down around Izaya’s ass and hoisted her up higher.

A low rumble emitted from Shizuo’s throat. “Don’t push your luck, flea.”

“Not luck, Shizu-chan.” Izaya undid another button of Shizuo’s blouse and kissed the spot below the suprasternal notch, then left a perfectly-centered bite.

“Fuck, hey! People’ll see that.”

Their eyes met and Izaya smirked. “What, embarrassed?”

Shizuo extricated Izaya from her upper body and yanked Izaya’s shirt off in one graceless motion. Without hesitation Shizuo bit into her neck with teeth leaving a bruise twice the size Izaya had left for her, then kissed her way down to the center of Izaya’s chest and bit again. It felt like those teeth were drawing something out of her with each bite. In this case she moaned--the tang of the bite traveled straight between her legs.

“Now we match,” Shizuo said in what was barely more than a whisper. Her eyes ventured over Izaya’s partially-exposed chest. Lingerie had never seemed like a worthwhile investment to Izaya, and she obviously didn’t need to it to seduce, but the thought crossed her mind that she wished she’d worn a bra that did her justice.

It didn’t seem to matter much to Shizuo, because she undid the clasps in the back expertly and tossed it to the side. She bit down and took one of Izaya’s breasts in her mouth, running her tongue in smart circles over the nipple, then biting it.

“Oh shit,” Izaya sighed, and she picked the wrong moment to look down, because she saw Shizuo with her teeth bared against Izaya’s breast with bruises flowering her wake, and Izaya let out a moan just at the sight. “I’m gonna fuck you,” she said.

Shizuo popped her lips and licked her teeth, keeping Izaya’s eyes in a trap. “I know, but,” she straightened up. “Not here.”

Izaya licked a stripe Shizuo’s neck and played around with a finally exposed bra strap. “You’re not going to drag me out into the snow, are you, Shizu-chan? I might lose interest in the time it would take to go somewhere else.”

“Just not behind the bar,” Shizuo said.

“And I’ve just gotten comfortable.”

“I work here, dammit,” Shizuo snapped. “I’m here five times a week. It’d be weird.”

Izaya bit her earlobe. “Mmm. And in your fits of passion you’ve already broken two glasses. Shizu-chan had a good idea, shockingly.”

Shizuo relaxed her grip and let Izaya slide down onto her feet, then grabbed her wrist. “Shut up. Come on.” One little tug and Izaya followed.

They trotted past the room where Tom had been residing before and into the all genders bathroom in the back. “So glamourous,” Izaya hummed, but the moment the door closed behind them, she pushed Shizuo against the wall and kissed her again. Her heartbeat rang and pounded like a cowbell, she couldn’t smother her excitement, and at this point, she felt no need to.

She started working at the buttons again, but Shizuo pushed her away. “Too slow,” she mumbled.

“Fine,” Izaya said, and worked to just yank the shirt open altogether. Shizuo took her hands and helped her, sending a button or two flying across the tile. Izaya hitched the shirt down and kissed her way past the bruise and to Shizuo’s breasts. Somehow she hadn’t noticed before, but under the white blouse was a solid black bra, not a push-up but Shizuo didn’t need one. She was formidable. Izaya knew herself to be shrimpy, but Shizuo was just _large_. Smothering. More heat pooled between Izaya’s legs, and she drew the bra down, pushed Shizuo’s breasts together, and bit both nipples.

“Shit, flea,” Shizuo sighed. Izaya massaged and drew out of Shizuo’s chest what sounded like an involuntary, “ _Fuck_ , yes.”

Izaya hummed, more to herself than to Shizuo, but gasped as Shizuo grabbed her hips and started a slow drag motion that really amounted to grinding but Izaya didn’t give a shit. Though if they kept that up for too long she would be close to coming against the constrictions of her jeans and panties.

Another time, Izaya could go on devouring her chest for hours, but she was feeling the heat herself, and started to kiss her way down Shizuo’s stomach. Shizuo covered her mouth and watched with fishbowl eyes as Izaya pecked a kiss above the waistband of Shizuo’s jeans, then licked her lips and then a stripe up to the belly button. The button of Shizuo’s jeans screamed at her, and Shizuo panted loud enough for it to echo around the bathroom. It was a large space but Izaya felt like there were walls on all sides of her.

Finally she slid all the way down onto her knees, undid Shizuo’s pants, and pulled them down with her panties. There was no anxiety about being rough with Shizuo because she knew it would be reciprocated twofold. That notion only excited Izaya more, she was slightly ashamed to admit. But she’d told a fair amount of lies throughout the night, a few truths here and there were inevitable.

So, a truth: Izaya stopped breathing when she saw the strong hips, the thighs that could break her skull, and mess of hair and electricity where Izaya could make all of that irrelevant. Jesus Christ, she was hot for this woman.

“Spread your legs,” Izaya whispered, and Shizuo complied immediately. Izaya ran a tentative finger along Shizuo’s sex, drew it away, and watched the trail of arousal follower her as she put that fingertip in her mouth and grinned.

“Holy fuck,” Shizuo breathed, looking for purchase on the wall behind her.

“Shizu-chan is already like this,” Izaya observed. She kissed the insides of either thigh, but there must have been some accidental contact.

Shizuo whimpered and the muscles of her thighs contracted tight in a second. “Christ, louse, save the fucking teasing for later.”

In response to that, Izaya teased a finger between Shizuo’s inner and outer labia, just _millimeters_ away from her clitoris. “Thinking ahead. So presumptuous.”

“ _Please_.”

It was all Izaya had needed, a little begging. A wave of satisfaction fell over her and she hadn’t even gotten off yet. Content and in the mood to taste more of Shizuo, she ran her tongue in a stripe from vagina to clitoris.

Desperately Shizuo grasped at Izaya’s hair, like she would lose balance without it. Izaya hummed into her, maybe to express support, maybe because she couldn’t speak when she was drowning in this woman. Holy lord Shizuo tasted good. Izaya couldn’t do it justice if there was a gun to her head. All at once sweet and bitter, maybe it was the alcohol on her mind but Izaya thought of vodka cherries. She tasted how it felt to be hungry.

Izaya squeezed at Shizuo’s solid thighs and made an unintentional noise from the back of her throat. She worked at Shizuo’s clit deliberately but not without passion, until she deemed it time to enter. It probably wasn’t necessary, Shizuo could come without it, but she didn’t just want her to just come. She wanted her to feel it like being hit by a semi.

Just one finger to start, and Shizuo let out an honest-to-god whine. Izaya prodded with restraint, working in a second finger, and then hooking them both inside.

“Motherfucker,” Shizuo groaned. She pounded at the wall behinder with free arm, then used it, too, to hold Izaya’s hair.

Izaya broke away to breathe for a split second and took a glimpse of Shizuo’s face. Immediately she wished she hadn’t. Because between the ripped-open blouse and the bright red arousal having overtaken her body and face in patches, the breath caught in the back of Izaya’s throat. And her eyes--those eyes she hadn’t been able to understand before--were liquid gold.

Whatever she felt, she swallowed, and plunged into Shizuo again, pumping her fingers in and out with the addition of a third and licking and sucking so hard at Shizuo’s clit that she could feel the climax coming before Shizuo did. What Izaya had always found fascinating about orgasm was that once the body decided it was going to send itself hurtling over a cliff with pleasure, it swallowed whatever it could for courage. If it was going to jump, it was going to goddamn jump. Izaya would not deny it.

Shizuo’s vagina tented around Izaya’s fingers and her entire body convulsed as she shuddered and screamed her way through the most frightening climax Izaya had ever elicited. Izaya carried her through it, trying and failing to ignore the anticipation swelling between her legs. No one should sound that good screaming, and especially not screaming Izaya’s fucking _name_.

As Shizuo eased her breathing back to normal, Izaya withdrew her fingers to find them drenched. It was a marvel that Shizuo wasn’t dripping onto the floor. The same could be said for Izaya.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya said. Shizuo looked down and blushed deeply as Izaya stared at her with an eyebrow cocked.

“C’mere,” Shizuo said, hiking up her jeans.

Izaya stood and shivered as her breasts brushed against Shizuo’s hot skin. She leaned into Shizuo, advertising her drenched, sticky fingers. She pulled them apart slowly, then put all three in her mouth at once, then drew them out with a pop. “Satisfied?”

Shizuo hummed and ran her fingers gently along Izaya’s bare stomach. She ran the backsides of her fingernails along the waistband of Izaya’s jeans and to the small of her back. The touch was so gentle, like gossamer being veiled over her, Izaya gasped at the contact.

“You look good like this,” Shizuo muttered, pressing her mouth against the space below Izaya’s ear.

“What, half-naked and sexually ignored?”

Shizuo teased a finger along Izaya’s thigh. “I didn’t realize you were so far along already.”

“Shizu-chan’s neglectful.”

With just a little force from Shizuo’s shoulder they rotated 180 degrees so that Izaya’s back was pressed against the cold tile. A shiver went through Izaya that weakened her knees and had her searching for a foothold somewhere against Shizuo. Nails dragging against hard skin seemed to only encourage Shizuo’s work at undoing Izaya’s jeans.

Shizuo started to sink down onto her knees to reciprocate as Izaya had, but Izaya grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

“Something wrong?” Shizuo asked, standing up immediately.

Izaya flushed. That had been more forward than she intended, but what the hell. “Just your hands.”

“Why?”

Because she was turned on by Shizuo’s strength? Another, possibly unfortunate truth, but she wouldn’t voice this one. Some realities were better unuttered. “Don’t waste time with stupid questions, Shizu-chan, or else I might-” That blatant bullshit was swallowed by a moan foreign to Izaya. She thought it must have been someone else’s voice coming from her throat, reacting _that_ shamelessly to Shizuo’s adept fingers entering her.

God, even her fingers were strong. They should be illegal. Shizuo grunted and kissed along Izaya’s jaw as she worked two fingers inside, her thumb massaging Izaya’s clitoris much too slowly. “And you were teasing _me_ before,” she said, withdrawing her fingers. They glistened in the too-bright light of the bathroom. Izaya’s breath caught in her throat as Shizuo ran her tongue over those fingers and cocked her eyebrow, and _fuck_ she was already thinking ahead to round two when they hadn’t even finished round one.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Izaya said, but there was no backbone to it.

“Damn flea,” Shizuo breathed, kissing Izaya’s neck and starting again and a glimpse at those eyes and Izaya knew she would not last long.

She held Shizuo’s hand in place and turned around to press herself against the tile. Shizuo’s breasts pressed into her back, skin warm and nipples hard. She pressed her thigh against the curve of Izaya’s ass and bit into her shoulder as they ground against each other.

“Fuck, _Shizuo_ ,” Izaya breathed, enjoying herself too much to correct with the nickname. She bit the back of her hand to try and suppress any more obscene noises, but it was futile. She grasped at mental straws, trying to find a previous encounter that topped this, but she couldn’t. Shizuo’s fingers had her clawing at the walls and thanking the lord for the bruise in her shoulder the size of an apple because she wanted to remember this as long as possible.

Izaya grabbed Shizuo’s free hand and brought it up to her breast, and of course even a protozoan would take the hint. She squeezed the breast between her fingers, pinching at the nipple in a gesture lewd enough to flush Izaya’s cheeks even deeper than they were before. It was seedy and it was shameless and it was hot, and even without the advantage of eye-contact Shizuo fucked Izaya ruthlessly through a climax of seeing bright white.

It took a few seconds for Izaya to register her surroundings again. She wasn’t sure if she’d had her eyes open or closed when she came, but that seemed like semantics. Sweaty and thoroughly exhausted, she turned around to finally face Shizuo again. Her bra was back in place and what buttons remained in the shirt were being done up again. “Fuck, sorry,” Shizuo said, looking away.

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

Izaya touched the wound with a single finger and flinched. “Quite the animal, aren’t you?”

“Shut up. It’s not like you didn’t bite me.” She was tucking in her shirt now and heading out of the bathroom. Izaya followed, all but skipping behind her and watching how Shizuo’s stupid blonde hair stood on all ends cartoonishly, like she’d been struck by lightning.

“Coherent as always, Shizu-chan.”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you in there.”

“Hm?”

Shizuo tossed Izaya’s shirt to her and started to pour another shot of whiskey. “You said my full name.”

Izaya flushed and pulled on her shirt. “Slip of the tongue.” She hopped up on the bar again and joined Shizuo, who didn’t deem it worth it to chastise her. Their after hours bonding experience must have softened Shizuo just a little bit. Izaya searched for a napkin and a pen, jotted her number down, and shoved it in the pocket of Shizuo’s jeans. “For the next time you want to have pruny fingers.”

Shizuo’s face colored in embarrassment, but didn’t resist. “Want a shot for the road?”

“Sure,” Izaya said. Between the whiskey and the physical exertion, she was sure to pass out the moment she got home. “Put it on my tab.”

“This one’s on the house,” Shizuo said, pouring them each a shot. “The rest go on your tab.”

“Such special treatment.” Izaya smirked and they clinked their glasses together, downed their respective shots, and accidentally assaulted each other with eye-contact. The awkwardness seeped through the walls down on them, and Izaya was unsure if the moment felt weird or oddly sensual. If she kissed Shizuo, it meant too much, if she didn’t, it was dishonest.

Her fingertips and lips buzzed with the alcohol and lingering arousal, and in a moment of impaired (or maybe ameliorated) judgement, she grabbed the collar of Shizuo’s dress shirt and kissed her. It started with a burn so unwarranted that Izaya felt herself overheating, but Shizuo wrapped her arms around Izaya’s waist and deepened the kiss and they settled into a comfortable warmth. Something this foreign had Izaya blindsided. She tried not to let it show, but maybe she failed. She was too buzzed to be sure.

They broke away, and Izaya admitted to herself, privately, that the kiss hadn’t meant too much. It was appropriate. “A precursor,” she said simply, and threw on her jacket. “Good night, Shizu-chan!” she called, and in a still-accelerated heartbeat she was out the door and back into the snow. Over the shoulder she caught sight of Shizuo standing behind the bar, a little flabbergasted, with her fingers to her lips. Izaya tried not to give it too much thought, but she’d be lying if she claimed that image wasn’t seared into her memory.

  
Between her experience at the bar and walking to and from her apartment, Izaya had been gone for around two-and-a-half hours. The walk made it feel longer, the time with Shizuo had flown by. Marching up the stairs of her building made Izaya realize just how exhausted she was. It was a miracle she didn’t just fall asleep in the stairwell.

She nearly collapsed against the door when she got back inside. Shinra and Celty were curled up together on the couch with some nondescript cop drama on the tv with the volume way down.

“Welcome home Orihara-chan!” Shinra said, too-cheerful all over again. Celty waved.

Izaya shrugged off her jacket and shook the snow out of her hair. “Yeah.”

“Orihara-chan, I’m sorry,” Shinra said. “I didn’t mean to kick you out so quickly earlier that you went out like that.”

Izaya scrunched her eyebrows together. “Like what?”

Shinra pointed to her. “Without a bra.”

Celty slapped his hand down and started to scold him in sign language, but Izaya just hiccuped a laugh. She looked down and, alas, she’d forgotten her bra at the bar. Oh well. She’d call it a surprise for Shizuo and leave it at that. She was more surprised that the doctor didn't notice her several, substantial bruises. “Yes, Shinra, I was stranded in the freezing cold for two hours with my nipples freezing off. I hope you feel good about yourself.”

“What did you do?” he asked, unaffected.

“Moped in the snow and got frostbite,” she said. “I sat on the bench outside the apartment building and didn’t move.”

“Celty says you smell like alcohol.”

Izaya glared at them. “Well, I’ll be headed to bed now. I actually have things to do tomorrow and need to get a good night’s sleep.”

Shinra and Celty cuddled in closer on the couch. “Welcome back Orihara-chan,” Shinra said again.

She studied the couple and turned off the lamp for them so that the living room was suitable for sleeping. This happened entirely too often when Celty lived alone, but Izaya wasn’t in the mood to complain.

All of her materials were still lying out on her desk, but she ignored them, kicked off her shoes, shimmied out of her skinny jeans, changed into a clean pair of panties, and passed out in a matter of seconds.

  
The hangover, surprisingly, wasn’t unbearable, and Izaya made it through two major exams with relatively coherent thought processes. In the mid-afternoon, she sat in her lecture class paying only partial attention to her professor when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She sat in the back and lots of her mafia gigs were arranged via phone, so Izaya remained rather shameless in her use of it at all hours of the day. There was a text from an unknown number that read, _you left your fucking bra here flea._

Izaya grinned privately. She created the contact and replied:

_To Shizu-chan: Honest mistake. I can come pick it up after work if you want._

She put her phone down and waited, taking vapid notes regarding an equally vapid marketing technique she couldn’t bear to care about. Her phone buzzed again.

_From Shizu-chan: my boss found it, you piece of shit_

_To Shizu-chan: So you don’t want me to pick it up after work?_

_From Shizu-chan: he’ll be suspicious._

_To Shizu-chan: Then just bring it by my place._ And she listed the address.

Izaya remembered the bruise on her shoulder and anticipation traveled not between her legs like she would have guessed, but to rouge her cheeks.

_From Shizu-chan: See you soon._

**Author's Note:**

> I wear my sunglasses at night so I can so I can


End file.
